In the text 'By Your Place in the World, I Will Know Who You Are’, Tina Makereti speaks about the perpetual feeling of alienation (but also the ‘inalienable rights’ she has to places as tangata whenua) that she undergoes due to her multiple heritages. She has ties to more than one particular tribe due to her mixed blood. She is not ‘part-Māori and part-Pākehā; she is both Māori and Pākehā.’ This causes a lot of discomfort for her as she never knows how to answer someone when they ask her where she is from; can it be summarised in one sentence? Makereti discusses her paradoxical world with a writer’s lens by delving deep into how two different things coexist in a single setting. She talks about how writing would help map our lives out for us to better understand it. She wrote this personal essay about her Māori-Pākehā heritage ‘to make ancestral journeys’ and these explorations complicated her understandings about where she came from more than simplifying them. While, as mentioned before, Makereti is still unsure as to how to answer the big question: “where are you from?”, she definitely has found a better understanding of her ancestors from both her Māori side as well as her Pākehā side. Although writing helped lay down the blueprint for her to achieve that, it still remains incomplete.
I was born in Malaysia, a country so rich in culture that I never felt out of place. Malaysia is a multicultural country that consists of three main religions; Islam, Buddhism and Hindu. Over the years many more religions have joined us such as Christians, Sikhs and more. This only added to the diversity of my country. You get various types of clothing, food, festivities and more. This gave me a strong sense of belonging and I never had an identity crisis; or rather, I have never thought about my identity outside of being a Malaysian. I was comfortable with myself and it didn’t occur to me to search up my background, my ancestors. What I did know was that both my parents were born and bred in Malaysia. My paternal grandparents were both born in India. Both my paternal and maternal grandfathers were Malaysians while my grandmothers were from India. This summed up family as I knew it. Unlike Makereti, I did not struggle with finding out where my “place” was, until I completed a decade and two years of life.
My parents decided to visit India, our homeland. At this time, my maternal grandparents while still being Malaysians, lived in India. Little did I know a surprise was waiting for me. The houses in my grandparents’ neighbourhood were stacked side by side. My grandfather’s house was right at one corner of a seemingly straight line of houses and shops. Next to it was a small tea stall owned by a lady that happened to be one of many extended grandmothers I have not yet been introduced to. This is followed by a tailor’s shop which belonged to my uncle. And finally, at the other corner stood a house. My mother told me I had an aunt living here. The idea of meeting this woman intrigued me. I had no idea I had family aside from my grandparents in India.
I looked at the house warily before venturing further. I was greeted by a girl a good score older than me. Her smile was kind as she looked me over. Apparently, they were already expecting me. She paused for a bit before offering to put maruthani (henna) on my hands. Before I could answer, a voice asked me if I wanted some mangoes. I frowned and looked around me to see nobody there save for the older girl (my cousin) and me. “Do you want some mangoes?” The voice came again. She laughed at my expression and raised a finger, pointing upwards. I looked up to see a boy sitting on the branch of a mango tree. “They taste really good!” I politely declined just as an older boy came through the front gates on a bicycle. He seemed to know exactly who I was as soon as he saw me. He offered to show me around town on his bicycle. My brain was still processing everything when I was interrupted yet again; this time by a girl my age. She wondered if I’d like to have something to drink. I was in a country I’ve never been in before, meeting family members I never knew even existed yet ‘not one person looked at me like I was a stranger, even though I kind of was. I was theirs, they were mine.’ Over the course of my stay in India I met so many relatives that I felt my whole world tip slightly before righting itself again. Two things kept running through my head. The first being: “wow my family is huge.” The second thought that plagued my mind was the fact that this is my place too. This is a part of my history, my culture and I’m always welcome. In addition to that, I learnt more about my culture in India than I had all my life.
When I left India, life somewhat returned to the way it was but the revelation that I am not just ‘Malaysian’ never fully left me. Still, living among fellow Malaysians made it way easier than I thought it’d be; until I turned 18. It was my first day in college. I was doing Canadian Pre-U which meant I had the chance to experience the Western culture, albeit mildly. Students from all over the world came to Malaysia to study this course. All my teachers were Canadian too which made for a great change of setting. What I didn’t expect to happen was the sudden shift that came with mixing with people who were not used to Malaysia and its culture and how they viewed me; an Indian girl in a Muslim country. “Where are you from?” They’d ask. I’d frown and reply, “Malaysia. I’m a native,” and they would only frown back; “but you’re Indian; aren’t you from India?” Well, how do I answer that? As I had found out six years ago, yes my family is from India. While Malaysia might have a majority of Muslim citizens, it is diverse and I’m a Malaysian. As Makereti so clearly points out, ‘the answer is at least a paragraph, if not a page. Never a sentence.’
Two years later and I am in University. The difference now is that people had a habit of assuming things. One guy I met during orientation asked, “you’re from India right?” Obviously you guessed my next answer which was a long, stretched out “no”. When I told him I am a Malaysian he looked at me guiltily and proceeded to talk to himself; “why did I think you were from India?” I simply answered “because I’m a Hindu.” It is easy to stereotype and make assumptions about someone without really knowing them. Needing to categorise people based on their skin colour, race and place is a pull everybody feels, including myself. I realised being ignorant then wasn’t all bad. Why worry about technicalities when you can have the best of both worlds? I am born in Malaysia and have a humongous amount of ancestry and culture in India. I am a Malaysian Indian. Makereti searched for the answer to where she belonged her whole life while I happened to come upon it. Either way, we came to the same conclusion: the answer to where you are from is not just one word and that is marvellous.